


Fortuna Ghost

by marquise_angelica



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Christmas, Comfort, Demons, Family, Gen, Mystery, Post-Canon, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28320237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquise_angelica/pseuds/marquise_angelica
Summary: Even the ghost of god has his own favorite human things.
Kudos: 33





	Fortuna Ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DMC fandom Secret Santa 2020](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=DMC+fandom+Secret+Santa+2020).
  * A translation of [Фортунское привидение](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/731370) by Маркиза Анжелика. 



> This work is a translation of my own fanfic. Translation is made by Lin. I have permission for publication.

The Order of the Sword was never just a part of Fortuna — it was the city itself. Each and every resident was linked to it in some way, and it only took Vergil one short visit back in the past to see it.

Looks like nothing has changed ever since.

Despite everything that happened in Fortuna a few years ago, the castle nearly wracked by the Savior and an horde of demons was being rebuilt: the outer walls were getting repaired, the rubble was getting cleared. All of it was happening sneakily, at night time, and no one knew for sure who was behind it. Everyone had their own guesses, and sometimes Vergil overheard rumors when passing by, wearing a hooded cape — a common thing here in Fortuna. That’s just how people are, always looking for the first seed, for a wilful intent. They always want a rational explanation.

Vergil still felt like an outsider among them, and yet he found himself taking an interest in “humanity” after everything that had happened in Red Grave City. Turns out, even he had always had one of his own, — just a muffled one — not to mention usual people. Wasn’t it exactly what his father was looking for, trying to grasp and embrace it after building a castle amidst the town he was a founder of?

There was no easy way to enter it, though. The rubble didn’t let anyone go in the castle by foot, but Vergil simply used his wings to fly up to one of the broken windows.

The wind was whistling in the shattered glass, and in the dim light the tattered paintings on the walls looked much like gaping jaws of demons. However, it’s been a long time since this place smelled like Hell did.

Vergil turned right without any hesitation.

Covered in snow and broken glass, the passage led him to the library — it was deserted, but loaded with books. The room echoed his footsteps, as he stepped on maroon and white mosaic tiles creating a woven pattern. There was a stained glass window behind his back, illuminating his shadow with green and blue, and countless bookshelves, fading into the dusk; the spines of the books looked illusive and shadowy because of a thick layer of old dust.

Vergil reached his hand out, grabbed a random book, looked at the cover, and put it back with a strange feeling of peace: he would have a thing or two to do here. Maybe, it would be a good idea to stay here. On the one hand he’d be far away from Dante, and on the other hand he’d be just a step away from Nero, but not too close to him to feel uncomfortable.

Vergil left the library and walked towards one of the few unbroken windows. The sun coming through the fluffy clouds lit up his silhouette with white winter light, shining through the eyelashes; people down at the street seemed to be so tiny and insignificant. What can they even do, really?

Vergil went out of focus, staring at his own reflection.

His hair had been longer, not silver but jet black thanks to his nightmares — although usually it was the other way around — and his eyes had been green, just like his mother’s eyes… his face had had slightly sharper features, and his nose had been way more prominent. Where was all of it now? Where did it come from back then?

He shook his head and blinked until he could see V instead of his own reflection as if he was actually there; he moved on then, aiming to explore his new abode.

It looked like the castle was cold, even freezing, but it mattered not — Vergil had his own fire keeping him going on the inside, and he drew strength from it. A half-demon, a son of Sparda, he needed no sleep, no food, no warm clothes, using them only when he enjoyed it: to look nice, to sit back and leisurely watch the fire dancing inside a fireplace, to bring back the good memories with the taste of certain food.

He hadn’t done anything like that for such a long time.

But when he returned from Hell once again — this time with Dante — and realized what a small fraction of his whole potential life he had experienced up to this point it was a good moment to start exploring its other sides. Maybe to even finally understand why their father had lived here for so many years. And to do so he needed to move here himself.

The great hall beside the library seemed an appropriate place. Judging by an ornate armchair, a tall Gothic window and a few bookcases which didn’t look like they belonged to the library, this room had previously been occupied by the leader of the Order. In the opposite corner of the room there was a fireplace and a dusty ice cold bed behind a folding screen.

Perhaps it’s enough for a start.

***

A few days later, peering out of the window, Vergil discovered something odd near the rubble, under the passage: a small treat basket and a lighted candle. Looked like it was brought to the castle on purpose. Maybe it was meant for him? Maybe not. Maybe this was a way the unknown renovators invented to communicate with each other. It could be anything…

The little details Vergil had noticed earlier in the daytime suddenly lined up. People were stopping by, looking at him while he was standing next to the windows; they were whispering to one another, blessing themselves with the religious symbol of the Order. What did they see? A shadow wandering about the abandoned castle of Sparda. Who could it be, if not Sparda himself, or at least a ghost of him?

Vergil kept his watch for a little while longer, sometimes putting aside the book he was reading and walking up to the window to look out. Nobody showed up to pick up the basket.

He waited until night and went downstairs, picking up the basket himself and inspecting it curiously. There were a few sweet smelling paper packages, a heavy thermos flask with something gurgling inside, a bar of chocolate, and a note.

“Nero told me it was you who moved in here. Maybe you’re feeling lonely, being all alone there. We’ll understand if you decide to come visit us. Take this as a sign of our acceptance. Kyrie,” — a gentle hand of a woman traced this out on the paper tucked into the basket’s twined pattern.

Vergil bent down a bit, touched the candle, and an orange light shifted to a visibly colder blue one.

He took the offering with him. Before dawn he put the emptied basket back: he didn’t need it, but it might certainly come in handy for Kyrie. She might either be foolish or simply not aware of what had happened between Vergil and Nero — a remarkable first meeting of father and son — but her kindness deserved credit anyway.

Nero. He already knew, of course. Why didn’t he come by yet? Nero more than likely still considered him to be a threat and therefore should have shown up to see what Vergil was doing here, in Nero’s hometown. Or maybe that’s not the case anymore, and Nero could not care less? Or maybe the first thing he did was to go to Dante, so now they were sitting at his place, deciding whether to pay Vergil a visit or not?

The latter definitely seemed to be true. And there’s no doubt they’d visit him someday.

Kyrie kept coming and leaving treats for him, he even almost ran into her once. She looked up and froze, noticing him; he nodded. Kyrie almost raised her hand to awkwardly wave at him but then stopped and put it back, never bringing herself to it.

  
Vergil smiled — Kyrie, however, couldn’t see it from this far away.

Time went by, and bit by bit people started to do the same thing she did as if it was a common thing. Fortuna was being covered with festive decorations — for some local holiday resembling Christmas and invented for the purpose of local folks feeling more involved — and every now and then there were paper packages on the remnants of the stairs just as if it were presents. An offering to their god. And there were candles, one candle each next to every package. In the evening the small area in front of the castle was all lit up with an orange light, and by morning all of the candles were flaming with a blue one. It was simply not possible for any usual candle to do so, which meant that the deity these people worshiped had descended that night too.

Some people let their candles burn down, others took them away and used them to light their festive lanterns. Fortuna quickly started looking like a big colorful embroidery, gold and blue in the dark of the night.

Vergil meticulously picked over the presents, only taking chocolate and sometimes tea. He came across an excellent porcelain dinnerware set in the castle, so every once in a while he indulged in lighting the fireplace, boiling the water and having a cup of tea while reading a book from the endless stock. Sometimes he would just light up the fireplace, sit down and watch the dancing flames. Vergil was using only a few rooms for now, not even approaching the wracked parts of the castle. He could easily get rid of them… but he didn’t want to.

He was not ready to go out and communicate with people directly yet. It looked like they didn’t mind it anyway.

Fortuna, all lit up with candles and festive lights, tempted him to join the crowd, and Vergil opposed less and less. It’d been a long time since he took part in any holiday, but now he was finally left alone and in peace, and he had absolutely no idea on his later life which could very well turn out to be eternal after him eating the Qliphoth fruit.

So if one day he ended up here anyway, why wait? Who was stopping him?

He collected everything he could find in the wracked parts of the castle, everything that would do as a decoration: ribbons and drapes, some ceremonial trinkets with gemstones. Then he cleaned the great hall he was living in, clearing all of the dust and spider web. After that he lit up the chandelier — with a blue light — and began to make preparations for the holiday. He didn’t exactly know how the decorations were supposed to look, he only vaguely remembered the cozy feeling which his mother used to create around the house on Christmas. Slowly but surely everything was coming along, though Vergil wanted it to be the exact same way it was back then; everything had to be perfect.

Sometimes he had to get distracted, get out of the house and kill the demons invading the outskirts of Fortuna, and every time it was quick and clean — he did it even quicker than Nero, who always came only to the call of the locals. Vergil did his best and always made it in time, reaching the demons before they’d reach Fortuna.

His father probably did the same thing. The veil was incredibly thin here, that must be why Sparda had chosen this place to be his home. And that must be why he let himself to have children when it became clear that the veil was downright failing: he needed Dante and Vergil to keep the demon world away from this world, he needed them to protect humans. That’s why their father started teaching them how to fight the moment they learned how to walk: he was afraid he’d run out of time. And he did.

Of the two of them, Vergil was the elder brother. Their father would probably want him to carry this burden with honor.

Vergil didn’t quite see any reason to protect humanity yet, but he hoped to see and learn from watching Fortuna and following his father’s steps. Does it really matter what to dedicate an eternal life to? It just had to be to his liking.

The only thing remaining was to understand what it was that was to his liking.

Coming home after fighting the demons once again, Vergil suddenly got a feeling there’s someone else in the castle. Even the neverending draught couldn’t get rid of this familiar presence.

Dante.

Vergil found his younger brother in the office, next to the table. Dante grabbed a chocolate from the pile — he took the one in a red wrapper — and cracked it in half, not bothering with unwrapping the foil first. Then he sat down and nodded to Vergil as if it was him who came here as a guest.

“Here you are! It’s Christmas time soon, you know,” Dante said, taking a huge bite off the chocolate, “Looks like you’re already aware though. What about the Christmas tree? I thought you went out to get one.”

Vergil brushed the flakes of snow off his shoulder and rubbed his fingers together, broodingly staring at his own hand. The snowflakes melted into water and vaporized from the warmth of his skin.

“What do you want from me, Dante? Do you want a present?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’m going to give you a present myself,” Dante promised in a friendly way but with a weird unclear look on his face, “I’m going to take vengeance on you for all those years you couldn’t have had presents because you’ve been away. And for all your presents for your dear brother… although Nero’s not that bad. I wish your kids were my only problem, you know.”

“If you came here to chatter, you better leave,” Vergil cut off.

“No, actually, I came here to invite you to a Christmas party.”

He’d be back to the agency. A foreign place stinking with scents of strangers. Dante’s abode — his and his sworn lady friends, and the memories they were waking up were by no means pleasant.

“Thank you, but I’ll decline.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t be such a loner! For the first time since we were kids nothing is stopping us from having fun together and you’re just passing up!”  
  
“I said no.”  
  
“You know what, maybe we could use your place to host it,” Dante walked to the window and touched a bowknot on a curtain, “Wait, I know this one,...” he pulled the end of the knot, loosed it, and then rearranged in a surprisingly quick and skillful way, “There. Just like Eva used to do.”

Yes. Yes, it was perfect now — and he tormented himself over those knots for a whole week!

Vergil gave Dante a squinted look and stepped forward.

“Do you remember this?”

“Of course I do,” a sudden warmth and affection showed through Dante’s muffled voice, “I liked untangling these bows a lot… Don’t you remember how we… Oh! I got an idea, I help you decorate everything here the same way we used to have at home, and you let us come here for Christmas in return, deal?” Dante extended his hand for a handshake.

Vergil stared at it first, then stared at his brother’s face.

“Agreed. I’ll let you and Nero come. That will be enough.”

Dante grimaced and splayed his fingers in sign of displeasure.

“No-no-no, wait, what about Trish and—”

“Submit to my terms or leave.”

“Okay, okay,” Dante put his hands up in a gesture of reconciliation, “Take it easy,” his face, however, was giving him away and showing how happy he was with even such a reluctant agreement, which he right away told with a huge smile: “As you wish. It’s family only this year.”

“Then get to work,” Vergil grabbed a hank of ribbon from a bunch of decorations and threw it to Dante. “The curtain rods are on you.”

Dante grinned and took on his demon form, squatted a bit and jumped, opening his leather wings. The foil of the chocolate he had eaten blew off the table and tapped into Vergil’s boot. He picked it up and crumpled it, watching Dante flying up all the way to a high ceiling and a long tail of maroon satin ribbons trailing behind him.

***

Both his brother and his son arrived exactly on time, and they were not empty-handed: Nero brought a basket full of paper packages which was covered with snow, and Dante brought a big flat box under his arm. They were both covered with tiny flakes of snow, and a blizzard was howling behind their backs — they came here through the same abandoned passage with paintings which Vergil used when he first entered the castle.

“It’s way too quiet here,” Dante said with suspicion in his voice, looking around pointedly, “Where are all the usual party attributes? No nasty evil plants, no ugly old farts?”

Nero put the basket full of food on the table and shushed him:

“Shut up, Dante! You don’t really want anything like this to actually happen, do you?” he shifted his glance to his father and coughed awkwardly, “Um… hi. Sorry, but I’m not gonna stay for long, maybe about an hour. Then I’m going back to Kyrie.”

Vergil nodded.

“I assumed so. Thank you, Nero.”  
  


He glanced over the decorated hall once more. In the light-blue light of the chandelier the festive decor was glistening and shimmering as if it was put under the moonlight. Near the bottom, however, the cool tones were replaced by the orange ones, which looked warm and even hot: they were created by a lit up fireplace. A teapot and a few fine big cups with a gold verge glinted in the firelight, and next to it there was a candy bowl full of chocolates. Until the very last minute Vergil didn’t expect to receive visitors — moreover, he didn’t know how to do it properly. However, it only seemed reasonable to offer them everything he could.

Meanwhile Nero arranged everything he had brought on the table, urgeing Dante to help him with either his elbows or with words. He put the emptied basket on the floor and last of all gave Vergil a small box tied with a blue ribbon.

“Here. It’s for you. Nothing special, but maybe you’d like to remember...” Nero stumbled awkwardly and shoved the present right in Vergil’s hands.

Vergil glanced at his son and without noticing anything helpful about his expression pulled the end of the ribbon. Then he opened the box and found a few pictures inside; it was him in those pictures, and at the same time it was not. Dark hair, green eyes — though the color was hardly visible, the person was looking away — sharp facial features, swirls of tattoos. Somewhere in the background one could see Nero; the pictures were taken in front of a van. Nico took them. Of course.

Vergil closed the box before Dante could snoop in it, swallowed hoping it went unnoticed, and put the box into an inside pocket.

“Thank you.”  
  
“You bet,” Nero rubbed his forehead and the bridge of the nose, clearly feeling uncomfortable.

“I have nothing to give you in response, but I can promise you this will never happen again.”

“No, I didn’t mean… I mean… ” Nero puffed angrily, and his eyes started darting, “I didn’t mean it like that! And you don’t have to give me anything in return, it’s a gift after all! I just came here to hang out with my family, I didn’t have many chances to do it before,” he glanced at Dante.

“Live in the present, kid!” Dante nonchalantly clapped Nero on the shoulder, “Here and now we are family. So, Vergil! Any suggestions for the Christmas party? Maybe I should call Lady and Trish so we all can have fun together?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“That’s what I thought. Alright, here’s your present. Merry Christmas!” Dante threw the box to him, and Vergil automatically fought it off with a fist. Dante shook his head, grinning. Vergil picked the box up with a soft grunt.

There was a pair of gloves inside of it, the same ones as he was wearing right now, these were just new; there also was a dark blue coat made of thick leather. Both of those things still had the peculiar harsh smell of newly processed leather.

“In return, I’d be happy if you stayed here until next Christmas without vanishing into nowhere again,” Dante said when Vegil looked at him. He was speaking softly and gently as if he put aside his usual mask of a merry fellow and showed his genuine feelings for a moment.

He missed him, come to think of it. He really did.

Vergil sighed silently, hung his old coat on the armchair and put on the new one. He immediately sensed a warm vibrant smell of leather.

“You promise?” Dante spoke again.

In a moment of silence they could hear wind howling louder and the logs in the fireplace cracking.

“He who binds to himself a joy does the winged life destroy,” Vergil responded.

“He who kisses the joy as it flies lives in eternity’s sunrise,” Nero suddenly spoke, earning a surprised look from his father; he scratched his head and shrugged awkwardly, “I was reading your book while you were away. I remembered this line for some reason… Okay, let’s sit down already.”

Vergil nodded and poured the tea into the cups; then he glanced over his guests, got his book out and opened a random page.

He was reading out loud at a hasteless pace while the logs were cracking in the fireplace. Nero was cautiously drinking milk tea and munching on the sweets brought from Kyrie. Dante was pretending to be bored, but his head tilted to his brother’s side gave away the fact he was actually paying close attention.

RIght here and right now Vergil was fully accepted for just the way he was.

What more could he ask for after everything that had happened to him in his life?


End file.
